“Miss,” he told her more firmly, “I’ve known Lord Wells me whole life. We grew up together. I’ve sailed half the globe withhim.” Her eyes grew wide at this. “He’s like a brother t’ me.” John was careful how much he told her. “He’s a good man, despite his flaws, and the finest ship’s captain ever. He’d never harm you on purpose, miss. I know he cares for you.”
“He doesn’t, John.” She was adamant. “I am just a body to him.”
“And he’s a body t’ you, gel, don’t you deny it,” he scolded.
She looked briefly chagrined, then stuck out her chin at him. “I don’t. I admit I enjoy him. That is not the . . . That is not the source of my anger,” she finished.
“Nor the source of his,” he said softly. John took a breath. “Which begs the question, Miss Merrinan, as to why the two o’ you is so often so angry with one another. When were it just the body y’ each craved, you’d be satisfied enough, eh?”
And she reacted with a start, as if she were about to retort. John chose that moment to quietly slip away and leave her to her airing. He watched her take up the paddle again to beat at the blanket with less vehemence this time—with more measured, focused intent.
He hoped the gel had heard him.
“Yer Grace?” Wells heard Cuthbert call through the door.
“Enter, John,” he answered from his bath.
“Pinky’s report satisfy, sir?” His steward strode in.
“Yes. Couldn’t keep hid long from her though.” His eyes met Cuthbert’s. “You should’ve sent Fergus instead. Pinky’s still green.”
His man nodded. “Next time, Yer Grace, Fergus ’tis.”
“Only there won’t be a next time, John.” Wells grimaced. “She had the audacity to demand from me a side saddle tonight,as if I’d agree to let her ride about anytime she liked. The gall of that woman.”
“Well now, Yer Grace, t’ be fair, we’ve only got the one?—”
“Wagon, yes. She said as much herself. Don’t you dare start defending her, John.”
“Weren’t about to, sir.” Cuthbert chewed his lip. “Only after the dress down I heard you give her today in front of Adams’s men, is it any wonder she?—?”
“It’s a wonder I haven’t tossed her arse out.” Wells stepped out of the tub in a spray of flung water.
“Yer Grace,” Cuthbert started in again, “I’ve just come from Miss Merrinan beatin’ a blanket half t’ death in the courtyard, so I ’spect she’s more’n sorry for the trouble she caused today.”
“Sorry? Oh I doubt that.” Wells snorted. “Sore more like it. She’s not apologized yet for her behavior, John, and I’ll not tolerate a servant who doesn’t know her place.”
“And don’t I know it,” his steward grumbled.
Wells shot him a look. “Watch your tone, John. I know damn well what you’re thinking and it?—”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Yer Grace, but y’ don’t know a damned thing when it comes t’ me or that gel.”
“What the devil makes you think you can speak to me like that?” Wells was stunned.
“’Cause it’s the truth, and ’cause I swore an oath t’ yer father, Roland Wellesley, that I’d serve you honest and true. But I’ll not lie t’ you, not even when it suits Yer Grace.”
“Fine,” Wells growled, which was as much permission as he’d grant his friend and steward.
“She’s a wreck, sir, she is. Cried her eyes out just now on me shoulder—you can see yerself the stain she left.”
And sure enough, Wells spied the wet spot on John’s coat.
“Said you’d ruined her for good, callin’ her a strumpet in public like you did. Said you’d made her into a whore and she’dnot be able t’ look her sister nor father in the eye no more. Said Mr. Adams’d lose all respect for her family.”
“Nonsense.” Wells roughly toweled himself dry. “She is exaggerating, as women do. And being purposefully emotional in order to manipulate you into feeling sorry for her, John.”
“I think I’d know the difference, sir, ’twixt some London lady’s manipulations and a Cumberland gel’s honest hurt.”
